Dark Glass
by WildeOne
Summary: Curt/Brian. Hints of Curt/brother. The interlude scene they don't show in the movie, the actual break up.


Warning: Non-con, mention of rape and incest. Curt/his brother. Don't read if you're easily squicked.

AN: First of all, I know some of the quotes are off, because I had to return the movie and no longer have something to check. Never fear though, I'm going to buy it so I'll never have to know a life without Velvet Goldmine ever again.

I know there's an excessive amount of "fuck you" which some would argue is bad writing, but it's just how I see Curt. Brian, yeah Brian's pretty eloquent ("Rock n roll is a prostitute…") and although Curt can be poetic on occasion ("The world is changed cause you…") in general I see him using "fuck" a lot, esp. at an emotional time like this. This part always makes me mist up in the movie, mostly because it's so goddamn ambiguous! You don't really know what's happening. They skip out (the bastards!) the interlude – what I've tried to write – after the session and before Curt storming out and Brian shouting out the window. This is my attempt to fill in some gaps.

I'm not sure why Curt/Brian broke up. I've watched the movie an obscene amount, but I still don't understand fully that pivotal issue. My sister came up with the theory (which is kinda what I use here) that Curt was back on drugs, hence he couldn't sing. That works well with the fact that they're both so torn up about breaking up, I mean, Brian doesn't just let Curt go like he lets Mandy let go. I mean, you see him cry! So the only reasonable explanation that I've (she's)  so far come up with is Curt's drug problem. And what Brian shouts at him as _Curt_ is leaving? "Your wolves, your junky twerps." ? that all fits in. but then you have to take into account that as Mandy's narrating she says "Somewhere along the way, Brian seemed to get lost in the lie." So what does that mean?

            I can't believe I'm analysing this so deeply. Holy fuck I need a life.

"For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known." – 1Corinthians 13:12

Dark Glass 

"I wanna be your dream/ Wanna be your unclean". I listened to him fuck up the song, as high as he was, listened to him mangle the lyrics, skip lines and make the melody comparable to a cow giving birth. He was singing our relationship.

"We have to cut it." I waved my hand, wanting to listen more, wanting to cut further masochism sets in, "I wanna kick it all around". All right, I'd heard enough. "Cut it." Eton stopped the music.

"And I'll set you…" He looked at us, well, at me, "What?" Pause. "What, is there a problem?"

"You fucked up," I said, but he couldn't hear me through the glass. He never could.

"What?" he said again, pointing at me, the fear edging in on his motions as he saw my eyes. Eton started talking, "I'm sorry Curt, it appears that…" But he cut him off. He only had eyes for me. "What?" he said persistently, pointing at me, desperate to hear my judgement. I leaned over and flicked the microphone on and began in a reasonable voice, "Curt, we only ask that when you decide to make a change you simply inform us in advance so that Eton here is properly prepared, otherwise - "

"I don't know what the fuck you're talkin about man. I didn't make no fuckin changes." I looked away. That's when I realised we were no longer talking about the music.

"Brian." I couldn't bear to look at him, couldn't bear to see the bewilderment, the aching-please-I'm-breaking-touch-me child in his eyes, the hurt. You bastard, you fucking manipulative _bastard_. As if this were my fault, my problem.

"Fucking motherFUCKER. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU MOTHERFUCKER." And on he raged, swinging the microphone stand into the glass, shattering pieces everywhere. Someone laughed. Mandy continued smoking away, she never even flinched. 

"Eton, please," Eton obligingly switched off the mic, but we could all still see him pacing in the room, coiled tight like a caged tiger. Jerry started lecturing me, but I wasn't really listening. Didn't really care.

"Give us a bit of a stretch, eh lads?" Trying to keep the pleading out of my voice just get the fuck out. Mandy in the back, looking at me. Eton shaking his head as he left. Jerry trying to give me advice on his way out, trying to play the father.

I refused to look at him, bracing myself against the counter with all the controls. Trying to breathe. I heard him stop screaming. Heard the door open, and him tentatively come out.

"Brian." I let it sit there for a moment, then turned to face him. He averted his eyes.

"Brian, I'm sorry," he turned away.

"What the shit is going on Curt? We're had thirty fucking six fucking hours of fucking studio time, and 3 cuts. THREE FUCKING CUTS. Jesus fucking Christ Curt. Jerry's not going to extend your contract because you're too much of a risk."

"And you?" voice low and desperate.

"And me _what?_ I've tried like hell to be your main fucking man but you won't let me, you just want to shoot that junk in your veins until you rot. You're fucking pathetic, look at you! Coming to sing all fucked up. What the _fuck_?" I kicked a chair out of frustration. He didn't move.

"You want to know what I think Bri?" he knows I hate the affectionate nickname, "I think you're just looking for a way out of this, a way out of me. I don't know why, but I want to know. Can't you just tell me?" I breathed deeply, I needed to find a way to send him over the edge, to make him scream and gate me, to just push me away. I waited. Finally he got tired of my blank back, refusing to look at him, just saying nothing.

"Well just fuck you Maxwell Demon. Fuck you. You think that because you're such a big fucking star you can just fucking kick me around, well fuck you Brian, fuck you!" And then he tried to kick a music stand over but only ended up falling down. He laughed. And laugh and laughed and laughed. Then I heard the sobs. These weren't the graceful sobs of mourning, these were howls of grief and bewilderment and agony.

"What went wrong Bri? What the fuck happened?" I went and sat next to him, ready to cry myself. This was no good. "I don't know Curt, it just, fuck, I don't know." I think that was the last truly honest thing I said to him. 

"Goddamnit, I'm trying so hard to hate you," he half-whispered hoarsely, bitter irony. I knew as he said those words that it would never work. There was no band-aid large enough to cover our relationship. No matter what we did, it wouldn't work. In that moment I _wanted_ him to hate me.

"I don't hate you," I said mildly, and it twisted me to see how he seemed to ease under that declaration, "I just don't care anymore." Silence. "I mean you're beautiful," I stopped to let a hand trail across his damp face, "But I can't allow a pretty face to ruin my career." Now I was in my element, now I was Maxwell Demon and I meant every word I said.

"Fuck you," he whispered, "don't _do_ this."

I stood up. "Do what, tell the truth for once?" I never told the truth, "I'm sorry Curt, but what started out as interesting experiment has descended into a demeaning waste of my TIME!" I started out softly, echoing Jerry mockingly, but by the last I was roaring and pounded my fist on a counter. He flinched.

"Brian, why?"

"Why? _Why?"_ I pretended to contemplate the question, but really I was trying to figure out what would set him off enough to really leave me, to walk out that door and not turn back. Bingo.

"Tell me Curt, do you miss your brother much?" he mentally missed a step as the words spilled from my lips, unstoppable, "Ever miss his hands on you, his cock in your mouth, up your ass?" his eyes cleared in horror as he realised what I was saying, what I was doing. Betraying him. He'd told me about it, oh, once long ago, back in the beginning when we thought we would last forever, Curt and Brian will always love each other, we thought. I can trust him with my pain, he thought. Told me about his brother, a playful slap on the arse, accidentally coming into the bathroom when Curt was in the shower, waiting until Curt had stripped down for bed before going in to say goodnight. Told me about the night his brother gave him a special goodnight kiss (lips closed on his own), his fingers briefly touching Curt's crotch before saying goodnight. And a while later how twelve year old Curt had come over his brother's hand. Not too long after that, how his eighteen year old brother came over his hand. And soon how he was coming in Curt's mouth. I knew nothing would drive him further from me than this. 

"And the one time he split you open, do you still want that?" He looked as though he would be physically sick, memories he'd tried to repress, tried to forget with ungodly amounts of heroin, no amount of shock-therapy would ever erase the memory of orgasm with his brother's cock rammed up his ass. 

I saw him remember, mentally step back. He could feel the ache in his jaw again, the choking, the burn, the flushed cheeks and the intoxicating stomach-flip as he tripped into orgasm. I saw him remember feeling sick, "mom can I stay home" (he's gone out) "mom can I go out" (he's at home), pale cheeks in the dark waiting for the steps outside the door, wanting to die. It's like he's reliving (in these two or three minutes) that year of hell, before his mother discovered him (thank you god) before they sent him off (never more grateful in his life). The blank look in his eyes assures me that he is gone and will never share his soul with me again.

I moved closer to him. He closed his eyes. I whispered in his ear, "Did you ever think about him when you were sucking me off? Was it _his_ cock in your mouth, _his_ moans you wanted?"

"Stop!"

"I'm sorry, did I hurt your feelings?"

"Fuck you, Brian. You _bastard_." I was surprised by the strength in his voice. I could only sit back and admire his reaction to all this, I'd stuck the knife in and twisted and twisted it like a corkscrew, and all he would say was fuck you. Then he laughed again, laughing and laughing laughing laughing until I thought he'd finally succumbed to madness and I was so fucking relieved…

"Fuck you. I'm leaving," he said it like I should I know, and I guess I did.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Incredulous.

"Okay." I repeated as though speaking to a peculiarly slow child. I turned away.

"Fuck you," he said again, record-stuck on those words (what else to say?), and stormed out. I heard the door slammed as he stalked across the courtyard, heels angrily marking his passage. It was the end. I'd wrought this, I'd succeeded, made him hate me, precluded any chance of us ever patching the rift…I smashed my fist into the wall. Now that I was sure I'd succeeded it was safe for me to allow my pain to seep through, I wrenched the window open. "Piss off! Go on then! Back to your wolves! Your junky twerps! Your bloody shock treatment! AND FUCK YOU TOO!"

Mandy looked up at me from the courtyard with this hideously pitying look as I slammed the window down, breathless from trying not to cry. I think that's when I started hating her.

And then I was looking out at him through the curtain, sliding my fingers along the fibrous cool to watch him leaning against the car. A fag in his mouth as he nervously sucks it to death, catching my eye. He knew nothing would change anything now. I let the cloth slip from my hand, and turned away. He smiled with hatred, got in the car, and left.


End file.
